


Upgrade

by entangledwood (Eryn)



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Secret Solenoid, Shippy Gen, Shrinking, equipment malfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 15:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/entangledwood
Summary: Ratchet has been complaining about the med-bay scanner for weeks. And Wheeljack is going to do something about it.





	Upgrade

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Domestic Electronics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/605865) by [Bibliotecaria_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/pseuds/Bibliotecaria_D). 



> written for **Tiana** as part of the Secret Solenoid 18/19, who asked for Ratchet, Wheeljack, and an experiment gone wrong.
> 
> I quite enjoyed writing it, so I hope they, and you all, enjoy reading it just as much xD
> 
> When thinking about what kind of experimental malfunction it should be, I let myself be inspired by 'Domestic Electronics', which is a hilarious story everyone should read

As far as Wheeljack’s plan went, this should be a quick in an out. Nice and easy. Ratchet had been complaining about the finicky med-bay scanner for weeks. And Wheeljack finally had time to do something about it. And give the cobbled-together thing an upgrade while he was at it. With Ratchet busy at the ground bridge controls nobody was around to stop him from installing it.

Wheeljack snuck into the medbay, opened up the scanner, and immediately spotted the loose wires that’d been causing the shorts. And fixing them even allowed Wheeljack to make room for the amplification module. Sweet. He’d just about finished the installation when both his comm and the base wide alarm went off.

“Team Prime report to the ground bridge!” Ratchet’s voice echoed through the base, and Weeljack knew better than to make the medic wait when he sounded like that. Quickly, he stuffed the amplifier into place and then closed the scanner again so his tampering wouldn’t be noticed.

***

Ratchet watched tensely as the team returned. The fight had been short, suspiciously so, considering the signals the satellites had picked up. Arcee was the first through the ground bridge, a grim look on her face. Then came Optimus, and finally Bulkhead, carrying Wheeljack in his arms. Ratchet’s emergency protocols, already primed from the waiting, went into override.

“What happened?” Ratchet snapped, barely noticing Bumblebee pulling up the rear and the ground bridge switching off automatically. At least the kids were still in school.

“Some kind of experimental weapon,” Optimus explained, “Wheeljack was hit before we could destroy it.”

“What kind of weapon?” Ratchet demanded even while he motioned Bulkhead on into the med-bay. His integrated scanners were sweeping over the rest of the team, ensuring that they weren’t hiding anything urgent. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them tried to slip an injury past him. He was glad to find today they weren’t, as he’d much rather focus on Wheeljack.

“An energy beam,” Arcee chimed in. “Yellow, smelled of ozone. Wheeljack rushed it before Starscream could finish his grandstanding detailing of how we were going to perish, so no idea what it was supposed to do…”

Ratchet huffed and stepped up to the scanner console while Bulkhead laid Wheeljack onto the med-berth. “Let’s hope this scan is more informative,” he frowned. “Step back.” He fired up the scanner, only to stumble back in alarm when it started to glow and vibrate ominously. The usually green beam of light shot out in a virulent crimson which enveloped Wheeljack, who started to convulse immediately. 

Ratchet cursed and jumped up to the console again. “Don’t touch him!” he shouted, because of course everyone had jumped forward as well. The last thing Ratchet needed was someone else getting caught in whatever malfunction this was. 

Unfortunately Wheeljack didn’t stop thrashing once Ratchet stopped the scanner. Instead he continued to convulse, trembling and rocking on the berth, vocalizer eerily quiet for something that looked incredibly painful. And then, to Ratchet’s horror, Wheeljack’s entire frame started to shift – and not like a normal transformation sequence – no, Wheeljack’s plating was folding in on itself, white and green overlapping, separating, twisting. Ratchet caught glimpses of struts and protoform as Wheeljack shrunk before their very optics. By the time the transformation stopped – please let it be stopped – Wheeljack was about the size of a scraplet.

Horror scenarios filled Ratchet’s processor as he looked at Wheeljack’s tiny frame. And it was a proper frame, not a mechling form, or a sparkling – all malleable protoform covered in an amorphous shell of plates. No, Wheeljack had been shrunk down completely, a full grown Cybertronian’s complex systems scaled down to the size of a scraplet. Ratchet could see the miniscule fan-blades spinning, the microscopic plates around his optics shifting. Because of course Wheeljack couldn’t stay good and offline. No, he had to regain consciousness when Ratchet still had no idea what to do. How to fix this. Frag.

Wheeljack’s systems were booting sluggishly, filling his HUD with status reports and self-checks. At the moment he was kept prone, locked out of his motor controls, while his processor tried to make sense of the readings from internal and external sensors in conjunction with the last impressions before his involuntary shut-down. He remembered trying to rush Starscream’s latest invention, hoping to reach it before it could be activated. Only to get hit instead, foreign energies coursing through his frame and overloading his relays until his system sent him into emergency stasis. All internal checks were coming back clean though, as if the ray had had no effect. Still, there seemed to be something wrong with his external sensors. Very, very wrong.

At last, Wheeljack’s cognitive functions relinquished some processing resources so his optics could finished their boot routine and he was faced with what was obviously the earth base med-bay. That, to the left of the berth, was the scanner he’d tinkered with. And there, behind the scanner console was Ratchet, an expression of abject terror on his faceplate. And that, next to him, were the other members of Team Prime, each with their own look of concern. Only they’d somehow been scaled up to gigantic proportions. Just like the scanner and everything else around.

“Woha,” Wheeljack exclaimed and jerked upright. At least his voice still sounded like it always did. “What happened?” He reset his optics, just to make sure they weren’t malfunctioning after all. Then he looked down at his servos, which looked just like they always did, right down to the nick on his thumb that self-repair never got to.

“We aren’t sure,” Prime explained kindly. “You were hit by Starscream’s weapon. And on top of that the scanner here malfunctioned.”

Frag. Wheeljack looked over at the console sheepishly. His servos patted at the med-berth beneath him. The surface felt completely ordinary, a perfect match to past sensor impressions. Only his optics assured him his servos only covered a fraction of their usual area. Just like, once he stood, his pedes didn’t sit close to the edges of the berth as they should. Instead there was a vast expanse of flat metal all around him.

“I should look into that,” Wheeljack said faintly and took a first careful step in the direction of the console. His frame insisted everything was fine, but his processor was still mulling over the fact that he’d apparently been reduced to a fraction of his normal size. However, before he could take a second step huge servos dropped to the berth around him. The faint tremors travelling through the surface send him reeling, and Wheeljack almost fell flat on his aft again.

“Ep, ep, ep, ep,” Ratchet admonished, leaning over him with his usual angry yet concerned expression on his faceplate. “You’ll stay right there.”

“I don’t think so,” Wheeljack glared up at Ratchet and resolutely walked up to the servo blocking his path. At his current size it was about chest high and felt firm under his servos. It was weird, part of his processor insisted this felt just like Ratchet’s servo always felt. And another part insisted this was a solid obstacle. In either case his touch had Ratchet freezing, so Wheeljack took the chance to push himself up and over. He didn’t wobble at all when he landed on the other side.

“Wheeljack,” Prime admonished. “You should listen to Ratchet.” The Prime made no move to stop him though, he sounded more amused. Instead it fell to Ratchet to try and cage him in again.

“No you won’t,” Ratchet snapped. “What if you hurt yourself?” His field lashed out angrily and Wheeljack realized that Ratchet was genuinely frantic. Not the usual unnecessary worry. Or the pedantic medic-knows-best tone. Pit’s sake Ratchet wasn’t even touching him, just trying to gently cage him in with his huge servos.

Wheeljack stopped and glanced over at the rest of the team. He didn’t like doing this with an audience, but needs must. He turned and looked up critically at Ratchet, trying to meet both his optics at once. It was surprisingly difficult, given their respective size. Gently he rested one servo on top of Ratchet’s again, trying to pulse comfort. He had no idea how far his field extended, if it was the usual range, or proportionate to his current size, but either way it should bridge physical contact. “I won’t. And if I do, you’ll fix me,” Wheeljack said firmly, confidently.

“I’m not letting you crawl around in that console,” Ratchet shot back. “You won’t even be able to lift your tools right now.”

Which, fair. But still. “Then let me instruct you,” he suggested and glanced to the side. Yup, the rest of Team Prime was still accounted for, eager to watch the drama unfold. Which meant there was no way for Wheeljack to keep his tinkering a secret. Frag. He shifted his optics back to Ratchet, and smiled sheepishly. “I might have added an amplification module to the scanner earlier today…”

Ratchet’s optics flashed and his field flared. “You did what?!”

Wheeljack patted Ratchet’s servo. “You kept complaining about the connectors. So I figured while I took care of that, I could also add the amplifier into the circuitry,” he confessed.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?!” Ratchet shouted.

Apparently that was the signal Team Prime needed to start retreating, though Arcee and Bulkhead lingered in the doorway. Wheeljack send them a dirty look and then turned back to try and placate Ratchet.

“It was right before the emergency,” he explained. “I didn’t have time to tell you. And it really is just a very small thing. Barely even counts as an addition. So, uhm,” he patted Ratchet’s servo, which was reassuringly less frozen now. “Why don’t you lift me over onto the console and I can show you how I connected it? Then we can figure out how to reverse whatever it did to me. And anyway, I think Starscream should take the blame. It was his experimental weaponry that caused the entire mess…”

The bellow that followed set the light fixtures swinging above them. Arcee couldn’t help but cackle and grin at Bulkhead, who was retreating. Arcee though was not easily scared. And, as Bee would assure her, much too curious for her own good. So she lingered right there outside the door, kneeling so she could peer around the corner without being spotted easily. Ratchet had Wheeljack by the tiny scruffbar now, raised so they were optic to optic – or rather frame to faceplate. Though the display of anger was tempered by the second servo held inches below Wheeljack, ready to catch him if he managed to struggle free. Arcee wasn’t sure why Ratchet bothered. It was obvious he was unable to hold onto his bad mood now that Wheeljack was conscious again and still so obviously himself.

Wheeljack reached out a tiny servo and patted Ratchet’s faceplate. “Come now, don’t worry so much,” he grinned. “Things’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Ratchet scowled, lips pursed at the touch, though he didn’t pull away. “You mean you’ll be back to giving me spark-attacks in no time.”

Wheeljack just grinned and squirmed in Ratchet’s hold, trying to get over to the console.

“Maybe I should leave you like this,” Ratchet mused. “You are much easier contained like this.” He kept his hold firm and carried Wheeljack over to the console.

“But where would be the fun in that?” Wheeljack asked, holding still just long enough to reach the console. He’d show Ratchet easily contained. The moment Ratchet set him down on the surface Wheeljack darted away and triggered his transformation sequence.

Ratchet’s optics widened as Wheeljack shifted into a miniaturized version of his alt mode, racing engine revving. “Are you out of your processor?!” He snatched Wheeljack up before he could drive off the console. “Change back immediately. You’re more than enough trouble in root-mode,” Ratchet scolded.

Wheeljack just revved his engine again, wheels spinning against Ratchet’s servo. “Come on, Ratchet. Set me down so I can try this mode out,” he wheedled.

“Absolutely not,” Ratchet scoffed. “You’ll transform to root-mode and then I’m magnetizing your aft to the berth until I solve this mess.”

Wheeljack made a rude noise in his engine, but he did trigger the transformation sequence. At least in root-mode he could use his servos to get out of whatever Ratchet tried to keep him in place. The transformation felt familiar, but they sent his sensors haywire. Wheeljack gasped, but once you started to transform, trying to stop was foolish. All you could do was see it through, no matter how Ratchet was shouting and the world was spinning around him. The ground dropped beneath him, his plating slid over foreign plating.

When it stopped Wheeljack was flat on his stomach, sprawled across Ratchet, who’d cushioned his fall. Restored to his normal size. His servos twitched against Ratchet’s arms. Jup, that felt like it should. And his optics took in the stunned expression on Ratchet’s faceplate. That, too, looked just like Wheeljack remembered it. He grinned cheekily. “See, it was a good idea to transform.”

Ratchet let his helm thunk back into the floor and threw an arm out to soundly smack Wheeljack’s aft. He was laughing though, a sound slightly edged with hysterics. Wheeljack, joined in and pet at Ratchet’s helm fondly.

Arcee shook her helm and snuck away. She’d report to Prime that Wheeljack was back to normal. And to stay away from the med-bay for now. Who knew what those two would get up to before they got the scanner fixed.


End file.
